


we smiled, not knowing of the storm that would take everything (the storm that was us)

by evanescentdawn



Series: merlin & morgana [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Everything Hurts, Friends to Enemies, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Merlin Needs a Hug (Merlin), POV Merlin (Merlin), and took longer than it should have to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24889993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evanescentdawn/pseuds/evanescentdawn
Summary: The words burned in the mouth and he only had to say it—he did it before didn’t he? Stormed into the court and blurted it out to Urther and all those knights, so. It should’ve been easy.It wasn't.
Relationships: Merlin & Morgana (Merlin)
Series: merlin & morgana [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845385
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	we smiled, not knowing of the storm that would take everything (the storm that was us)

The trees are whispering, curling warmth around his feet, reaching out to him but he doesn't understand what they are saying—later, later he will realise they were whispering _Emrys_ , feel the burden of the prophecy and destiny, and the blood on his hands, and the deaths, but—he’s young and ten now, a curious child, bright-eyed following the butterflies with wonder, chasing after insects, laughing, breathing in the air, something tugging him in deeper into the forest that he wouldn't be able to explain to you, only that it felt _right_ as he keeps running, deeper, listening to the mummers get louder and sinking in presence of the trees, _free_ —not knowing that trees aren't meant to speak, that it’s dangerous, that if anyone else _knows_ —if the villagers find out—that it’s lucky his mother will find out first and that Will is his friend and doesn’t say anything, that Gaius is close to his mother and becomes like a father to him, that Lancelot turned out to be who he is, that the bandits and scorcers would be dead anyways, so it didn’t matter—but he can't let Arthur know, or Gwen, or any of the other knights, despite how _much_ he wants to—has to keep this secret shut inside of him, lie and lie and lie even if it's getting so hard these days and the weight heavier, but then—

Morgana breaks her windows, snuffs out the light on the candles—all without lifting a finger. 

“No,” Gaius tells him, grim and sharp, but it’s not like that he ever listened to Gaius anyways even when he probably should have. 

“No.” The dragon says too, with his usual cryptic messages as if he ever listened. 

He visits, despite. It was night and she was awake, couldn’t sleep. She sat, stricken, looked at him with such a confused and terrified expression that hurt him. The words burned in his mouth and he only had to _say_ it—he did it before didn’t he? Stormed into the court and blurted it out to _Urther_ and all those knights, so. It should’ve been easy. He should have said it. 

He didn’t.

He could have saved her, he could have _helped_ her, stopped all this grief and pain and deaths, only if he just—instead _of_ —but he didn't—and now, now she’s looking at him with sharp eyes, snarling, so, so broken and consumed with hate and revenge and—it’s all _his_ fault. 

He doesn't let the guilt drown him though, he gets up, scrambles up, swallows and swallows and—It’s easier to hate her when she tries to kill Arthur, easier to try to kill her when she hurts his friends and his family and Camelot, easier to not remind himself that she was once his friend and he would’ve died for her but—still remembers how nice and kind she was, the steel of her courage as she stood up to Uther, remembers how she laughed, her face when he brought those flowers, how— _how_ —

(It was a silent, rare morning for him in Camelot. He wasn't all over the palace trying to meet the impossible demands of his prince or head-deep in research trying to find a spell to he save Arthur and Camelot. He was sitting down in the forest, leaning against the bark of the trees, listening to the magic buzzing around as in the distance the knights and Arthur tussled around. Morgana was beside him and they were talking about nothing and everything. He couldn't quite remember what they were saying—something about his homeland, he thinks—but he remembers, vividly, the warm-content feeling as he hummed and how Morgana looked beautiful in the sunlight, smiling more, happy and—just _free_.)

He can hardly to recognise her now. Tries to catch glimpse of her old self as she tries to curse and kill Gwen and poison Arthur again, and again, kills those _innocent_ people but he can’t—she’s become just like _Uther_ and it hurts, twists the knife wedged between his ribs deeper into his heart and lungs at the sight of her and it’s hard to breathe sometimes, until, until

Merlin looks at her and all that's left is _nothing_. 


End file.
